Raiding with Morgan

by Byron A. Dunn

Once more an ignominious death stared Calhoun in the face, and there was no Captain Huffman near to rescue him. It looked as if nothing could save him, but his self-possession did not forsake him.

“Major, before you commit this great outrage—an outrage against all rules of civilized warfare—let me say one word.” Calhoun’s voice did not even tremble as he asked this favor.

“Be quick about it, then, but don’t think you can say anything that will save your cursed neck!”

“Major, if that was General Morgan, as you say, and I have been one of Morgan’s men, as I have confessed, ought I not to be hanged if I had betrayed him into your hands?”

The fire of anger died out of the major’s eyes. He hesitated, and then said: “You are right. If that was General Morgan, and you are one of his men, you should be hanged for betraying him, not for saving him.” Then to his men he said: “Boys, [pg 308]take off that halter; he is too brave and true a man to be hanged.”

Calhoun drew a long breath. He had appealed to the major’s sense of honor, and the appeal had not been made in vain.

The major kept Calhoun for three days, and during that time treated him more like a brother than a prisoner. Calhoun never forgot his kindness. At the end of the three days Calhoun was placed under a strong guard with orders to be taken to Knoxville. He resolved to escape before Knoxville was reached, or die in the attempt. Never would he live to be taken North in irons, as he would be when it became known that he was one of Morgan’s officers.

At the end of the first day’s journey the prisoners, of whom there were several, were placed in the tower room of a deserted house. Three guards with loaded muskets stood in the room, another was just outside the door. Calhoun watched his chance, and when the guards inside the room were not looking, he dashed through the door, closing it after him. The guard outside raised his musket and fired. So close was he that the fire from the muzzle of the gun burned Calhoun’s face, yet he was not touched. Another guard but a few feet away saw him running, and fired. The ball tore its way through the side of his coat. But he was not yet out of danger. He had to pass close to two picket posts, and as he neared them he was saluted with a shower of balls. But he ran on unharmed. One [pg 309]of the pickets with fixed bayonet took after him. He came so close that Calhoun could hear his heavy breathing. Calhoun ran as he had never run before. A turn in the road took him out of sight of his pursuers, and he sprang to one side and began to climb the mountain. A squad of cavalry dashed by in pursuit; they had missed him. With a thankful heart Calhoun saw them disappear.

But darkness came on and he had to feel his way up the mountain on his hands and knees. His progress was so slow that when morning came he had only reached the top of the mountain. He could hear the shouts of the soldiers searching for him. Near him was a growth of high grass. Going into this he lay down; and here he remained all day. At one time the soldiers in search of him came within twenty feet of where he lay.

It was the longest and dreariest day that Calhoun ever spent. Hunger gnawed him, and he was consumed with a fierce thirst. It was midwinter, and the cold crept into his very bones. The warmth of his body thawed the frozen ground until he sank into it. When night came it froze again, and when he tried to rise he found he was frozen fast. It was with difficulty that he released himself without sacrificing his clothing. For the next seven days he hardly remembers how he existed. Travelling by night and hiding by day, begging a morsel of food here and there, he at last reached the Confederate lines near Dalton.